“Honored? I should be calling the cops on your ass,” I retort, but there’s a hint of a smile playing on my lips.
He raises an eyebrow. “You’d really call the cops on me? After everything?”
“Yeah,” I say, surprising even myself. “Because you’re breaking the law.”
Instead of backing off, Richard closes the distance between us. He shoves the towel away, and I let him. He grabs my shoulders, pushing me against the nearest wall. My breathing quickens, and he’s rougher than usual, but there’s something about it that my body seems to like. It’s messed up, but it is what it is.
“I’ve only broken one law so far,” he smirks, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin. “And it wouldn’t hold up in court.”
“What makes you so certain?” I manage to say through the rising desire.
“Well, for one, you have no witnesses,” he whispers looking around.
Before I can retort, he inserts two fingers deep inside me, and I gasp. Richard is still rough, using his thumb to circle myclit, and it’s no gentle caress either. My legs weaken as pleasure courses through me, and he smirks.
“Two. Everything we’ll be doing will be consensual,” he adds.
His teeth graze the skin on my neck, leaving a mark of possession. His lips find my earlobe, and he kisses it before whispering, “Three. You’re not hurt in any way, shape, or form.”
My wrists are suddenly bound by one of his hands and lifted above my head. Richard pushes his fingers deep inside me.
I hear the clinking of metal, probably the cuffs, but my focus is solely on his fingers, now causing a delightful ache. I’m still sore from earlier but even through the lingering ache, there’s something addictive about the way his hands move, the way the pain blends into pleasure, making me want more. The pleasure intensifies, and I try to buck against him, craving release. But he stills, denying me that satisfaction. It’s a feeling of emptiness that leaves me desperate.
“Please, Richard.”
But something in his eyes tells me he doesn’t want me to beg this time. He wants more.
He wants a piece ofme.
Richard steps back, leaving me breathless and exposed. My chest rises and falls in heavy waves, but before I can fully comprehend the situation, I feel something sharp and pointed against my neck – the knife.
With his free hand, he grabs the back of my neck, pulling me off the wall. I’m manhandled onto the kitchen counter, my hands forced behind my back. The cold surface presses against my wrists, amplifying the pain, and a wave of terror washes over me. I stammer, and the fear is evident in my voice, but Richard cuts me off, dragging the cold blade from my neck to my lips, pressing it against them with a threatening force.
“You’re going to shut up and answer my questions,” he says.
I don’t answer, and he presses the knife harder against the corner of my lips. The metallic edge cuts into my skin.
“Is that understood?”
I nod and as he keeps the knife against my lips, I brace myself for whatever comes next. His eyes lock onto mine, searching for something, and I’m left wondering—just how deep are we going to plunge?
He drags the knife back along my neck, grazing my skin but not cutting it, and I instinctively shut down any hint of fear. I feel his weight shifting, and when I open my eyes, I realize he’s lifting me onto the kitchen counter. In the process, things crash down from the counter.
The hard surface presses into my back, but I refuse to let him see how much it hurts.
This side of Richard is unfamiliar, and even though my body craves more of him, my mind rebels against the overpowering force. I know I can still fight him, but for some reason, I hesitate.
He bends his head, and just the tip of his tongue grazes my pussy. A moan escapes my lips, but I fight to hold back.
He looks up at me. “What’s your name?”
“Izel,” I manage to say.
Richard bites down at my clit with a force that nearly has me bucking off the table. It’s a sensation that’s both painful and pleasurable, and I struggle to keep my composure.
“Try again,” he demands.
“Izel,” I repeat, my voice stronger this time.